


Helenium

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:48:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26402170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Proper hobbits don’t kiss in public.
Relationships: Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee
Comments: 16
Kudos: 108





	Helenium

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Lord of the Rings or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Sam doesn’t like to think that Frodo would stand him up _on purpose_ , but of course it could happen accidentally—Frodo had far too much to drink last night and was still clearly nursing the effects come morning. He was at the window when Sam came up to trim the hedge. He smiled as brightly as usual, but he also had a warm flush across his cheeks and his brown hair all messed up. He’d asked Sam to meet him in the fields after work, and of course Sam said _yes_ , because Sam always says yes when it’s Frodo asking the question. Except now he’s wading through the wildflowers at the top of the round hill, and Frodo’s nowhere to be found. 

Too many others are out and about for Sam to yell, but he does call, “ _Frodo_ ,” quiet and hopeful. He walks through the thick stalks, yellow petals brushing against his shoulders, stems and leaves parting like water around his heavy steps. They spring back again in his wake, covering up the trail where he came from, but he knows these hills like the back of his hand and could find his way home in the dead of night. As it is, the sun’s still high, warm and pleasant, a light breeze making the whole field sway. He cups his hands around his mouth to shout _Frodo_ a little louder, except that something closes around his ankle before the sound comes out. A quick tug, and he’s tumbling down into the earth, scrambling for purchase amongst the ragged fauna. He lands on hands and knees, someone else’s leg between his own. 

Frodo’s sitting there, completely buried in a veil of flowers, even more beautiful for that halo. When he smiles, Sam’s stomach clenches. He can feel his pulse racing, face turning pink. He stumbles to sit up properly, tucked with Frodo in a tiny den beneath the foliage above. The wind whistles on and doddering hobbits chatter in the distance, but it’s muffled through the reeds. Sam’s always loved plants, and seeing Frodo tucked so snugly amongst them is like Elven magic. Then Frodo reaches out and puts his hand on top of Sam’s, making it impossibly better. 

“I wanted to apologize,” Frodo starts, not looking particularly sorry at all, but then, he shouldn’t—he’s never been anything but perfect to Sam. “For the pub the other night... I know I embarrassed you, falling in your lap like that...”

“It’s alright, Mr. Frodo,” Sam mumbles out while his temperature spikes and his heart buzzes in his ears. He can still vividly remember the weight of Frodo on his thighs, the lilac smell of Frodo’s hair, and the sweet laughter interrupting Frodo’s sultry song. It was a captivating moment, like every second with Frodo always is. But it was also in the middle of the Green Dragon, with everyone and their cousin around to see. Sam had helped him off of course, then helped him home. Clearing his throat, Sam justifies, “I just didn’t want to take advantage, you see, what with you having had quite a bit to drink and all...”

“I had a good bit less than Ted Sandyman, and I’d like to think I acted a good bit less of a fool. But it’s alright, Sam. I know you aren’t overly fond of being improper in public.”

Sam shifts awkwardly. He’s careful not to dislodge Frodo’s grip on his hand, though he can feel himself starting to sweat and hopes Frodo doesn’t notice. “I wouldn’t say that, exactly; I’m just a gardener. It’s your propriety I have to look out for, Mr. Frodo.”

Frodo’s grin stretches wide across his handsome face. He murmurs, “I think that ship’s sailed, Sam.” And Sam knows it too. But he’s never been put off by Frodo’s raw, wild spirit like so many others are. If anything, he thinks it just adds to Frodo’s charm. Frodo gives his hand a little squeeze and tells him, “But anyway, it doesn’t matter now. I think I’ve found a way to make us both happy.”

Sam opens his mouth to say, ‘oh?’ But Frodo’s already demonstrating; he leans across the small space and tilts to brush his lips across Sam’s cheek, bestowing a chaste kiss that makes Sam blush up to the very tips of his ears. He can’t seem to stop smiling. 

Frodo settles back on his knees to ask, “Is that alright, then? If I kiss you right out in the open, but under the flowers, so no one but the two of us can know?”

Sam’s never figured out what he did to deserve such wonders in his life. He looks at Frodo, and he can barely breathe, because he’s just so _happy_ that he wants to cry. He’s a sap for Frodo, always has been, always will be. Frodo’s thumb caresses the back of his hand. 

Sam nods and leans forward—Frodo meets him in the middle for a proper kiss that swiftly makes Sam’s day.


End file.
